


Ianto Wakes

by gracefultree



Series: Waking to Live [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7290673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto wakes up to find that he has lost an entire months of memory.  His only clue to what happened is his diary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my earlier Torchwood works that's been on FF.net for a while, but I'm posting here. (We like cross-pollination, don't we?)

Ianto woke with a pounding headache behind his eyes and an ache in his backside that he couldn't explain. He looked around his flat groggily, wondering why he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Lisa hated it when he slept on the couch, even if it was because he didn't want to wake her with a nightmare. His eyes fell upon a newspaper laying on the coffee table next to an empty bottle of scotch. No glass, though, he noticed. He must have drank straight from the bottle. He sighed and picked up the paper.

"CANARY WHARF DISASTER CLAIMS OVER 800 LIVES."

The headline screamed at him, bringing him back to the reality that Lisa was gone, dead, just like all his colleagues and friends. Memories of fire and blood slammed into him. His stomach clenched painfully and he barely made it to the loo in time to hurl the contents of his stomach into the basin. Not that there was much. He clearly hadn't eaten the night before.

Later, when the dry heaves and tears stopped, Ianto got up and washed his mouth out. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn't recognize himself. Gaunt and pale, with huge dark spots under his eyes, he looked like death warmed over. Just like he felt, he mused.

It took another three hours for Ianto to muster the courage to leave the flat. Showered and dressed in jeans and a simple black jumper, he wandered the streets of London until he found himself in front of the massive crater that had once been Torchwood Tower. In front of the crater, a memorial had been erected, and he walked over.

Made of black marble, with the names of the dead carved in gold, the monument towered eight feet tall, reminding Ianto of the Tower itself. Flowers and candles and stuffed animals littered the ground at his feet. He ran his fingers over the names, tears falling at all the familiar ones. There it was — _Lisa Hallett._

Tears sprung to his eyes and he fell to his knees, sobbing.

Somehow, he made it home again, his eyes dim. It was a month since the tragedy, and Ianto had no memories of that time. What had he been doing? The doorbell rang. Returning to the sitting room with a small package, he sighed. He must have gone to Cardiff, he thought, since he'd mailed himself the package from there. Opening it, he found his leather-bound diary, a new one, with only a single entry.

_I've never wanted to kiss a man more than I wanted to kiss Jack in that moment,_ he read. _So I did._


	2. Ianto's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The single diary entry that Ianto sent himself reads like a soap opera.

I've never wanted to kiss a man more than I wanted to kiss Jack in that moment – so I did. 

Jack is a _very_ good kisser. 

Jack is very good at _other things,_ too. 

I've never wanted to shag a man before, or be shagged by one, despite the occasional drunken and curious snog/grope at Uni, but when he was kissing me, and his hands were all over me and mine were touching him in ways I'd never thought I'd want to touch a man – well, I _really_ wanted him to shag me, right there on the cold, damp warehouse floor. But we had some things we needed to do first, and as wonderful/sexy as Jack is, he's also practical. He knew the sedative wouldn't last forever, so when he found out I'd not actually _been_ with a bloke before, well, he decided to do it right. (As in, not on a concrete floor with only his coat to protect our bare skin from the cold – not that I would have noticed at the time.) So we got everything squared away and I ended up in bed at his place, since I didn't exactly have a place to take him… 

I'll never forget that first night with him. "Amazing" doesn't even begin to do it justice. He made me feel things I've never felt before – not even with Lisa. 

Lisa… 

I told her that I would do anything and everything to make her better, including seducing Jack to get a job. I didn't expect to enjoy it so much. And I _did_ enjoy shagging Jack. 

Jack's flat isn't much to speak of, just a tiny studio five minutes from work. He said he didn't have time to be home all that often, so he didn't need anything bigger. And from the look of his cupboards, he was telling the truth. We spent nearly seven hours together before he was called back in. More than enough time to erase any hesitancy on my part about being with a man. As long as that man's Jack, at any rate. He kissed me goodbye and asked me to stay until he got back, which is more than I expected, even after all the sex. (And, no, I hadn't convinced him to give me a job yet, though I was wondering if the sex would help me get it…) I offered to do some shopping and make him dinner. He looked at me for a very long time before reaching into a pocket of that wonderful coat of his and handing me a key and fifty pounds. Another kiss, and he was gone. 

I'd never _missed_ a man as much as I missed him, those first hours alone after we'd been together. I'd never missed _anyone_ as much as I missed him, not even Lisa those first hours after the Battle when I was sure she wouldn't make it. But she did, and there I was, sitting on Jack's bed, completely naked, smelling of sex and trying to figure out what I might cook for supper. 

. 

. 

. 

"I don't sleep with people who work for me," Jack said that night over a supper of roasted chicken and vegetables, a dish that's surprisingly easy to prepare that also makes the whole house smell good. He really liked the rosemary I added, and said it reminded him of home. We'd already shagged once by this point, as soon as he walked in the door, and supper was a break before we went at it again, or so I thought until I asked about the job. I'm nothing if not persistent. 

"So it's either work for you and give up having sex with you, or have sex, but give up on getting the job?" I clarified. Better to know all the parameters before one makes a big decision, after all, though I knew mine was made. He nodded. "May I ask why?" 

"If my loyalty is to you as a lover, I can't be objective as your boss," Jack replied. "And I don't want to be accused of harassment." He paused significantly, then leered at me in that way he has that turns my insides to mush. "Unless we're doing a kinky scene of some kind. I bet you could get me hard just calling me 'sir' with that sexy accent of yours." 

For a man with his reputation, Jack is remarkably considerate as a lover, and in any other circumstances, I wouldn't do what I planned to do to him. But life dealt me cards I didn't want, and I have to play them because they're all I have. I don't like it and he doesn't deserve it, but I don't have a choice. 

"What about hiring a former lover?" (I didn't want to get sidetracked from the conversation about jobs, though the idea of doing a scene with him instantly distracted my lower half. We were at the table, so he couldn't actually _see_ how excited I was, but I think he knew anyway. He's very good at picking up on sexual cues, as well as kissing and shagging.) 

"Never hired one before," he said almost curtly. He was much more interested in talking about sex than work. Not that I blamed him. 

"Maybe now's the time to try it," I suggested, because as wonderful as the sex had been, I needed the job more. 

"You'd give up sex with me for a _job?_ " he demanded. He sounded angry, and, honestly, I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too, if my manhood was insulted like that. For all I know, maybe I hurt him by being willing to walk away from the sex so quickly, when both of us could tell how much I enjoyed it, how much I yearned to continue experimenting with him and learning about the things two men could do together. He was the master, and I was a _very_ willing apprentice. 

"I need the job. I need health benefits." 

"We have a national health care system!" 

"I still need the job." 

"You're on thin ice tonight, Jones," he growled, his voice low and husky with anger. 

Jack, angry, is scary. It turned me on more than I already was, and we ended up shagging for several hours, before we were interrupted by a call-out. This time he _ordered_ me to stay at his flat, though I _did_ get a kiss goodbye, which blunted the feeling that he was treating me like a possession. 

And the scene we'd been doing before he had to go...? Let's just say that he was right. 

. 

. 

. 

"I'll get you a flat. I'll give you a stipend," he offered. "As much as I'd pay you working for me." 

Two weeks since I first kissed him and we were still stale-mated. 

"I'm not a whore," I protested, though I sure felt like one sometimes, holed up in his flat, cooking his meals, shagging him every time he wanted. Of course, _I_ wanted the sex, too, so it wasn't exactly a proper metaphor. And I _really_ wanted it. There was no denying that. I was rapidly becoming addicted to him, just as he seemed to be addicted to me. It was becoming clear that I might not be able to stop having sex with him to get the job, though I would do my damnedest. At least he hadn't ordered me to stay after that one time. He even apologized. I could come and go as I pleased, though I always made sure to be there when he got back, at whatever ungodly hour of the night it happened to be. After the first few nights, he would come home earlier if things looked quiet. I think he liked my cooking. 

"Of course you're not a whore!" he shouted, getting out of bed, his anger hot and wild. I'd insulted him. Good. That's what one gets for treating me like a whore. Though, if I'm being really honest about it, I was _acting_ like a whore, wasn't I? Even when he took me to dinner that one time, I paid him back by letting him fuck me in the alley behind the restaurant, and isn't that a whore kind of thing to do? He said it was really kinky of me to offer, and I enjoyed the thrill of maybe getting caught, but... that's not the point, as Jack was about to say. "That's not what I – Damn it, Ianto! You'd get hurt working for me. I don't want you hurt." 

"I know the risks. I've lived through them. I still want to work for you." 

"Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why would you willingly want to work for me after all they've done? Why would you put yourself in that position again?" 

"Because I need to, for Lisa, for the others that died." _Not a lie,_ I told myself forcefully. I didn't want to lie to him, even though I would have to if I ever managed to get the job. I didn't want to lie more than I had to. I was already lying, though, and it was getting more difficult to keep from telling him the truth. Sex never meant just sex to me, and I was falling for him. That would just make it all the more complicated, the deception all the more hurtful, but I didn't care. I loved Lisa, too, and I loved her _first._

"Survivor's guilt?" he asked. I don't think he meant it to sound cruel, but we were back to the beginning, and neither of us were backing down yet. Neither of us were willing to distract the other with sex, either, it seemed. I was running out of time. I needed the job and couldn't afford too much more delay. 

"I'm one of 27 survivors, Jack. They were my friends. Lisa was my girlfriend. I want to honor their memory by keeping up the work, by doing good in their names." 

"I'm still getting you a flat. You can't stay here. It's too small, too cramped. I want you to have your things with you. Because you're _not_ a whore, or a kept man, or anything like that. I respect you. You have choices in this." 

"I don't want a flat. I want a job! That's my choice." 

"I can't give you a job and keep this up, Ianto." This time, he sounded sad as he refused me. Even so, he used my name, and I liked hearing my name on his lips, whether it was in the throes of passion or with the snap of anger. And even with the sigh of sadness I just heard. I loved hearing him say my name. He sat back down on the bed and looked at me, waiting for my response. It wasn't a long time in coming. 

"So let me go and give me the damned job!" I shouted, probably louder than I should have. "It's just sex, Jack," I told him. _Lie!_ I thought, even as the words passed my lips. Some whore I was, falling in love with him before I could even get what I needed, what I was whoring myself out to him to achieve. "You can find someone else for that. You're more than beautiful enough to have someone else in your bed tomorrow if you want. Hell, you could have someone else here within an hour of me leaving. You won't find someone who can do my job even half as well as I can, who knows the protocols, who's part of it already." 

"You think I'm beautiful?" he asked, a goofy smile on his face. Leave it to Jack to pick up on the most irrelevant part of the whole conversation and change the entire mood of the room. Leave it to Jack to find the one part that stroked his ego. As if it needed any help. It was already big enough as it was. But maybe it wasn't? Maybe that's why he noticed the compliment? Maybe that's why he looked so happy to receive it, like he didn't expect it and was surprised to get it? 

"You know you're beautiful," I replied. No use in hurting his feelings. I'd done that enough already, and there would be more down the road, if things went according to plan, though I already loathed the idea, had been loathing it since I found myself in his bed. But I had my plan, and my mission, and nothing could stop me, even the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, let alone had sex with. Well, the _only_ man I'd had sex with. He was still gorgeous, and kind to me, and damned infuriating at times, and even with all that I was in too deep to stop. 

"But I didn't know you thought that," he answered, his smile melting into a genuine and endearing one rather than the toothy grin full of cockiness and hidden insecurity. He took my hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb, one of the little gestures he discovered that I liked. One of the little gestures that broke my heart a little because of what I planned on doing to him. 

"I'm sorry, Jack," I said softly, hoping that me saying his name had even half the effect on him that him saying mine had on me. He was calm again, so I thought it might be time to force the issue. "I need the job. I'm not taking no for an answer anymore." 

"You'd leave me, leave this thing we have, to work for me and never have this again?" he asked, incredulously. He didn't believe I could do it. _I_ wasn't sure I could, either, but I was willing to try. I needed to try. I wasn't sure _he_ could do it, for that matter, but I still had to try. "You'd willingly watch me with other people? Because that's what would happen." 

"It's only been two weeks," I pointed out. "We haven't made any promises, and I'm not going to. Your sex life is your own business. Give me a month trial. If it works out, great. If not, we can come back to this." I couldn't decide in my head which outcome I wanted more. Surely a month would be enough time to go through with everything and either fly triumphantly or fail, more miserable than I already was, with my back against a wall and a problem not even Jack could fix... 

"You could get a different job. Wouldn't that be all right?" I could almost hear desperation in his voice. He really didn't want to give up what we had. (I was doing his laundry by that time, too, in addition to the cooking and cleaning and shagging, and I hadn't told him - but he might have known - that I'd jerked off to the scent of his "aftershave" that lingered on his shirts on more than one occasion while he was at work.) It wasn't really about laundry and cooking, though, or even the shagging, and that scared me. Ianto-the-whore becomes Ianto-the-lover? Terrifying. Especially before I had the opportunity to do what I came to Cardiff for. 

"I'm going to work for you, Jack. I won't take any other offer." 

The transformation from Jack-my-lover to Jack-my-boss was one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen in my entire life, and after surviving the Battle of Canary Wharf, that's saying _more_ than a lot. It was as if any and all emotions were sucked from his body, leaving behind a cold, hard, ruthless man. A very, very _dangerous_ man. Nothing like the gentle, respectful lover I'd grown used to the past few weeks, for even when doing a scene, he made sure that I knew I could use my safeword and he would stop. And I knew he would stop. I had no doubts about that. But then, in that moment, even naked as he was, I knew that he could kill me with his bare hands in a heartbeat, and wouldn't hesitate to do it if I crossed him the wrong way. I would have to be _very careful._ I held myself back from shivering, but only just. I was still naked, too, remember, and I don't have the intimidating presence he has. Even fully clothed, dressed in my best suit, I couldn't come near to the intimidation factor he was exuding, or could exude, because some part of me told me that this wasn't even him at his worst. 

"Get out," he snarled. "Your hours are seven in the morning until I decide you can go home. We'll discuss your job description in the morning." 

I nodded and scrambled for my clothes. I hesitated at the door and looked back at him. I wasn't sure what I would say, but he beat me to it. 

"Leave the key." 

There was nothing to say after that. 

. 

. 

. 

My first week working for Jack was a complete nightmare. He snapped and snarled and shouted at me. He found fault with everything I did. (Well, not the coffee, he still loved that, and I _did_ see him checking out my arse a few times when I wore a particular suit, though he didn't do anything about it.) Otherwise, he ignored me, as if I wasn't even there. The others all seemed to hate me. Suzie gave me the cold shoulder when she wasn't telling me off for something, Owen did everything in his power to humiliate me, and even Toshiko, who seems so kind, made things harder for me than she had to. The only one who seemed happy to see me was the pet that got me into this position in the first place, which I named Myfanwy. No one else had bothered to give her a name, though Suzie was working on a bar-b-q sauce to tell her what was ok to eat. 

I was on probation, and I knew it. Jack barely looked at me when he wasn't yelling for something. They all ran me ragged, demanding things, wanting coffee, needing me to pick things up or drive them places, wanting miracles. I'm very good at what I do, but after a week of put downs and exhaustion and heartbreak, I was ready to quit and call the whole thing off, Lisa be damned. 

But I couldn't do that. Lisa deserved more than me giving up after a week. 

On a personal level, Jack did his best to hurt me. I presume he did this for hurting him, for rejecting him, for choosing a job over being his lover. Not that I blame him. I knew what I was getting into – I thought I knew, anyway. He has a temper and he has a voracious sexual appetite. And I bruised his ego. I hurt him. Hell, I embarrassed him in front of the others, because they all knew about me before I got there. 

According to Tosh, Jack had been very happy at work when we were lovers, going so far as to tell the team my name and that he liked me, not something he ever did with his lovers. She said having me had been good for him, and thus the rest of the team. It's hard when there's four people and the boss is being a shit because he's not getting laid anymore. I know she told me to try to convince me to quit so I could go back to being with Jack, and thus make him happy and less disagreeable at work. I couldn't let that influence my decision, much as it pained me. Hearing that he told someone else that he liked me, even in the context of "finding a new fuck buddy," made my stomach twist, like it was full of rats that were chewing on the lining, giving me ulcers. 

I expected him to sleep with other people and shove it in my face. I expected to be embarrassed and humiliated at work. I expected to spend at least an hour or two crying when I got home every night, especially since home had become a small dirty room in a run-down boarding house rather than Jack's flat. 

I wanted to be back in Jack's flat, in his bed, and missing him as a lover was almost as bad as everything else. Not almost. It was worse than everything else. I was still doing his laundry and cooking, after all, though at work instead of home. Turns out he practically _lived_ at work, and only kept the flat for when he was out on the pull. My fantasy of living with him died in an instant. 

I didn't know how much it would hurt, though, to work for him. I didn't really know what I was getting into, and he exploited that, showed me that he could be cruel and vindictive and a downright _bastard._ It's nothing less than what I deserved. He was only ever good to me and I betrayed him, hurt him, and trampled on his feelings. 

Well, I hadn't quite betrayed him yet. 

He slept with no less than 17 people that week, always making sure I found out. It might have been more. The others were in on it, because I would find pictures of him with these other people, men and women both, in my email inbox, pictures from cell phones, screen captures from the CCTV network, a few digital camera images. Toshiko disguised who sent the emails, but I figured out very quickly that all three of them were doing it. All three of them _and_ Jack. He sent the most lewd of the pictures, because how else would _they_ get pictures of his _cock?_

And I'd certainly sucked it often enough to recognize it in those pictures. 

. 

. 

. 

He found me curled in a ball on the floor of the Archives, sobbing my eyes out, the video of him having sex with a blond woman still playing on my PDA. I couldn't figure out how to turn it off. I'd been crying for over three hours, apparently, since someone had set the video to automatically loop, and every time I quieted enough to hear him having sex with her I broke down again. He sought me out when he overheard Owen and Suzie laughing about what a bastard I was and that I deserved what they were doing to me for hurting him, and wasn't it funny that I'd been crying for so long? They were watching me on the CCTV. 

He claims that he hadn't been sending the pictures or the video, that all he's been doing to me is being mean and ordering me around work or ignoring me so that I'd give up about the job and go back to being with him. He claims that he hasn't had sex with _anyone_ the whole week, he's been so miserable, and that the people in the pictures were people from his past, some of them from _years_ ago. 

And you know what? I believed him. I don't know if it was wishful thinking or not, but I believed him. 

He says Tosh hadn't been a part of it, either, and pulled up the computer access using his own passwords to prove it. She was his best friend, and they had worked together, just the two of them, for a full year before he hired Owen and Suzie. He trusted her not to deliberately hurt me like the others were doing, he said, because she, too, wanted me to quit and be with him again. Only Owen and Suzie were sending the pictures. It made me feel slightly better, but the tears were still falling. 

And I still couldn't figure out how they had pictures of his cock. 

You should have _seen_ the look on his face when I finally stopped crying long enough to tell the full story of what was happening. He was horrified they'd been doing it, mortified, furious. Dare I say murderous? He said he might be a dick about the whole thing, but he wasn't going to drag our personal differences into the workplace. _That's_ why he didn't hire lovers. (Or former lovers.) 

Needless to say, he _did_ bring our personal issues into work just by being such as asshole to me. It was hard to keep up my professional demeanor, but if there's anything I've learned at the hands of my father, it's repressing emotions. Jack seemed to think he was good at hiding what he was feeling, but he didn't try as hard as he could have when I was around. Something about that warms me, even though his trust in me is based on a lie. On a mountain of lies that I've been building ever since we met. Since even _before_ we met. 

And even with all of this bullshit and pain, I still wanted to be in his bed. I wanted to feel his strong arms holding me, because in those moments, I felt safe. I felt safe, and cared for, and important. Like I mattered to him, but more than that, like my happiness was important to him. 

He held me as I cried and kissed my forehead and apologized for being a bastard to me. Then he cried a little, saying he only ever wanted us to be happy. I told him we could probably _be_ happy even if we worked together, as long as we were lovers, too. He looked like he was thinking about it. I meant it, too, even though I was even closer to betraying him. If I hadn't had to betray him, we _would_ be happy living and working together, as lovers and colleagues and maybe even as friends. We had that potential, I think. 

But Owen and Suzie had to be dealt with, so he didn't stay much longer. I could hear him shouting at them from all the way in the Archives. I couldn't hear what they said, but I can imagine, given what I was hearing _him_ say. 

"Hazing is one thing, but this is cruel and barbaric! What were you thinking?" he shouted. "No one deserves this kind of treatment! What kind of monsters are you?" They must have responded, because he started yelling, even louder than before, if possible. "I don't care if he's from Torchwood London! He's a human being!" [Pause.] "No! You're not being protective, you're being horrible! How is sending a picture of my cock protective? How did you get that anyway?" [Pause.] "Yes, he showed me. You think I don't know what my own cock looks like?" [Pause.] "Just because he hurt me doesn't give you the right to –" [Pause again. They must have interrupted him, which, given how angry he was, is a damned difficult thing to do.] "You think I don't know that? Everyone has secrets! Of course he's going to have them!" [Pause.] "Because I'm falling in love with him, goddamn you!" he roared. 

. 

. 

. 

"I didn't think I was being as horrid to you as you seemed," Jack said, sitting down next to me on the floor. "I mean, you seemed more miserable than I thought you would be, given what I was doing." His voice was rough. He'd been yelling for a long time. We were alone; Tosh had scampered away as soon as she realized that she wasn't in trouble, and Owen and Suzie had just left with their tails between their legs. Figuratively, of course, though at a place like this, it wouldn't _surprise_ me to have a colleague with a tail. "I thought they were just ordering you around a lot or ignoring you, like I was." He ran his fingers through his hair but didn't move to touch me. "God, why couldn't you have just gotten a different job?" 

The frustration in his voice seemed twofold. Sexual _and_ emotional. He wanted to be my lover, and he wanted to be nice to me. He didn't like how he was treating me, but was hurting enough that he didn't think about how he was treating me most of the time. I understand that kind of hurt, and it wounded me to know that I caused it, even as I planned to cause more. 

"Are you really falling in love with me?" I asked in a whisper. After all of the emotions of the afternoon, I needed the quiet, and I hoped he did, too. I thought he might. I wasn't sure if I could read him anymore, if I ever could. 

"You heard that?" If anything, he sounded abashed or ashamed or embarrassed. I couldn't tell which. 

"All of Cardiff heard that." 

He grunted, staring at his shoes. He reached down and brushed off some dried mud. "It's not how I would have wanted to tell you," he said with a sigh. He was embarrassed, then. Understandable. "It's not _when_ I would have told you, either. It's too soon for us to be talking about this. You just lost someone, not even a month ago. I don't want to replace her, or even try. It's not respectful of any of us. I couldn't replace her, anyway. We're different people. Besides, it's one thing to have sex before you've had time to mourn her, it's another to think about another relationship. I don't know if I've made it clear that a relationship with you is what I want. It is." He paused, looked at my face for a moment, then looked away. "But it's too soon after your loss. I know that, and it's selfish to want more than sex, but I'm a selfish man." 

"You talk like a man who knows a lot about heartbreak and losing people." My fear _(hope)_ that he wanted a relationship with me confirmed, I needed to deflect him, distract him. I couldn't claim to want that and then do what I had to do, no matter how much I might actually want it, no matter how much my bruised soul yearned for his love and companionship. He might call himself selfish, but I can be just as selfish as him. I could just control myself a little more. 

He shrugged, not giving much away. "Maybe I do." 

"I was with her for almost two years. We met very soon into my job at the Tower." 

"I know. I read your file." He stopped brushing at dirt on his shoe and started fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of his pants leg. He still didn't want to look at me. I felt the urge to kiss him, to make him feel better. I suppressed it. I also suppressed the urge to get out a needle and thread to fix his hem. Tad might not have been the master tailor that I claim he was, but I know enough to be a journeyman, at least, if I wanted to do that work. Too bad I didn't. Jack would be much better dressed if I were designing and making his clothes for him. 

"I was going to propose to her." I hadn't planned on saying that, but then again, I hadn't planned on developing feelings for him, either. 

He nodded. "I wondered." 

"I never got around to buying the ring." Guilt stabbed me because I _had_ bought the ring, and was lying to him again, for no reason, but he didn't need to know that. The ring was sitting in a box in my nightstand at my London flat. Lisa never knew about it. I'd been too scared of rejection to ask her before the Battle. I didn't exactly have a good track record with relationships. And now, sitting on the floor of the Archives with this wonderful, sexy, outstandingly kind and generous man, I knew he would say yes if I offered myself to him. And a large part of me wanted that more than I'd ever wanted Lisa. But I was committed to her first, and much as I might be falling in love with him, I'm a man of my word. 

Lisa says that I always keep my promises, and I'd promised her I'd take care of her and help her. Any potential promises to Jack would be secondary to that, much as it hurt to lie to him. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," he whispered. And he was. I could feel the pain he felt for my loss, the loss that wasn't as straightforward as he thought, that wasn't quite a loss, but would break me either way. Yes, it reminded him of his own losses, but he was there for _me_ in that moment. As much of a bastard as he could be, underneath it was the kind, lonely man I was falling for. He just needed someone to love and accept him to bring it out. If only I could be that someone. If only... 

"Me, too." 

We had sex after this little heart-to-heart. It was glorious! After a week and a half apart, we were both extremely enthusiastic. Afterwards, while he slept in his tiny camp bed in the hole in the floor under his office, I took care of what I'd come here to do. The first part, anyway. Now it was a waiting game until I could smuggle in an expert. I never felt like I was using him more than right then, using the time he was sleeping after sex to carry out my deception. Jack was still sleeping when I crawled back into bed. I was restless and had a nightmare about the Battle. I think it was about the Battle... It might have been about the lies and deceptions I kept up. He woke up and held me while I calmed down from it. He kissed me and caressed me and helped me forget about the fire and blood and death. If only I could forget about the waking nightmare my life had become. If only I could forget Lisa. 

I never wanted to _love_ a man more than I did Jack in that moment – so I did. 

. 

. 

. 

Every day it gets harder and harder to hide from him, especially now that we're sleeping together again. 

I can't keep lying to him. I can't keep hurting him, even though he doesn't know I'm doing it yet. 

I just can't take the heartache anymore. 

Lisa wouldn't want me to be like this. She wouldn't want me to have done this. I promised her I'd do everything I could, and I can't keep that promise. I'm sorry, Lisa, but it's too hard. He doesn't deserve this pain I'm inflicting, and neither do I. You'd understand, wouldn't you, sweetheart? You wouldn't want me to be the monster I've become, would you? 

I'm going to tell him. I'm going to come clean. 

I told Jack I had some errands to run for work this morning. I went to the stationers and bought this book, and I'll post it to myself at my London flat before I go back to him, just in case. I don't know what will happen this afternoon, but if all that happens is Retcon, and he doesn't kill me, at least I'll have a written memory of him, even if I never see him again. (Or remember him.) I know better than to put in real details, like his full name or what he looks like, what his coat is like, or the intoxicating scent that drew me to him that first night in the park, so I won't. If he Retcons me, I can't risk the memories re-surfacing, because then I'd be a threat, and he wouldn't have a choice except to kill me. I can't make him kill me. That would hurt him even more than my betrayal will. 

Last night he said he's falling in love with me, right before we made love. And that's what it was - making love. It wasn't just sex, that's for sure, whatever I might say later. It was so much more. And it broke my heart that he would give so much of himself to me when I was lying to him, when I was betraying him, when I was touching him just as gently as he was touching me. I had no idea it could be like that between two men. It gave me a taste of what we could be all the time... and knowing that, knowing what I was giving up... what I was getting when I didn't deserve it... I think that's what finally decided me. That's what convinced me to tell him what I've done, for if he can touch me like that now, imagine what it could be like if I was being true to him... 

So, here I am, sitting in a coffee shop, writing. I'm writing just enough to know that I met Jack, that I fell in love with him as I was betraying him, that for a few brief weeks, I knew what life could have been like if I trusted him, if I didn't follow the path I felt compelled to choose. I knew what it was like to be loved unconditionally in a way Lisa never loved me. 

If you find this, Jack – I didn't have to force you to hire me. I could have left well enough alone and mourned her and stayed with you, found a regular job, accepted that flat you offered. We could have been happy, I think. But I screwed everything up, and here we are, both miserable. 

If I had the opportunity, I would make different choices. I would go to you first, talk to you, try to convince you to help me and Lisa, and if you wouldn't, or couldn't, I'd take whatever punishment you offered. I would do all this before we slept together, so the emotional waters between us weren't so muddy, so if we ended up in bed, it would be real, it would be without deception and betrayal and lies. Because I know what you're like when you're in love, Jack, and I wish we could have had that for real. It would have been bloody brilliant. 

I hated what I did, Jack. You have to know that. But I felt like I had no choice, and you've seen desperate people act out of character before, haven't you? You've seen traumatized people, people in shock from the disaster that life can be, working for Torchwood. Only now am I waking up from my own shock. That's why I'm going to tell you what I did as soon as I post this diary and get back to you. Because I wouldn't have done it if I was thinking rationally, if I was still myself. We might never have met, but that would be better than what I did, right? Even though meeting you has been a rare shining moment in my overly dark life, even though meeting you had the potential to change my life for the better if I'd only trusted you sooner, if I'd only let her go. 

I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for lying to you. I'm sorry for betraying you. I hope that means something. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you that I'm falling in love with you, too. 

I am, though. 

I'm falling in love with you, Jack. 

_I'm sorry._


	3. Ianto's Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto reacts to what he read in his diary. And gets a mysterious visitor.

Ianto let the diary fall to his lap, his mind whirling with thoughts and questions. 

_This is my diary,_ he thought. _It's my handwriting and my way of writing, though it's much more vague than I've ever written. It seems I've been having an affair with a man. I've been having sex with a man. That would certainly explain the ache in my arse._

_And what is this obsession with pterodactyls I seem to have developed? I've doodled half a dozen just on this last page! Not much else visual to go on except a postcard of the Millennium Center in Cardiff taped to the inside cover._

He carefully untapped the postcard and turned it over. On the back an elegant masculine hand wrote: 

_"Ianto – Dinner last night was absolutely delicious, and "desert" was out of this world! You're a quick study and bloody brilliant at everything we did. Can I convince you to stay a little longer? I'd much rather have you in my bed than in my office, so think about it, please. (And I'd be more than happy to play Demanding Boss and Innocent Intern again whenever you want!) I'll call you when I'm closing up the office for the day to see if you're still hanging around. – Jack”_

He heaved a sigh and got to his feet. _Well, Jones, if nothing else, this calls for a drink._ Noticing again that the bottle of scotch was empty, he staggered over to the liqueur cabinet and grabbed a few bottles. In the kitchen he found a large tumbler, filled it with ice, and added vodka and Kahlua. The milk had gone past its expiration date three weeks ago, so he had to settle with a black Russian. Returning to the sitting room, he threw himself onto the couch and examined the diary again. He took a large swallow of his drink. _Ugh, this stuff is so sweet! Just about the only thing Lisa would drink except white wine, and she loved the sweet wines, too…_

His thoughts trailed off as he remembered that Lisa was gone. More tears slipped from his eyes and he gulped the rest of the drink. _She's gone. My beautiful Lisa is gone! He got himself another drink. She's gone and I deliberately set out to seduce this man for some reason that seems to be linked to her. It almost seems like she survived… but I can't remember. I only have pieces of the Battle, fragments of memory, then everything is a blank. Just nothing. I don't remember this "Jack" fellow who I apparently, according to myself, anyway, fell in love with. And betrayed. And lied to._

_He must have given me Retcon, which means he has to be Torchwood, UNIT or an organization that they've given the formula to. That's the only explanation for losing so much time that I can come up with. Who is he? Why would I have needed his help? Why wouldn't I have asked for it instead of doing this? Would he not have helped me if I just went to him about it? How could I have known that if I'd never met him before I started sleeping with him? Couldn't I have just asked?_

_If Lisa survived, and I needed to help her somehow, would that explain this? But then she'd be in hospital, wouldn't she? I saw in the paper that most of the survivors are in hospital already. Many of them are in psychiatric wards._

_Maybe the first thing to do is see if I can figure out who "Jack" is. That might give me something to work with. Would he be angry that I'm trying to find him? It seems like he has a temper. But if he just took my memories instead of killing me, and then left me in my own flat to do as I please, I must not be too much of a threat to him. Either that or he really was falling in love with me and couldn't see me killed. Small mercy, that._

Ianto grabbed a pen and started a list of facts he could learn from his diary. 

Jack: *Lives  & works in Cardiff (has studio flat, also lives at work?) *Wears a coat of some kind that, apparently, I loved (a particular style? big enough to shag on?) *Is aware of Torchwood London *Leads a team: Toshiko/Tosh, Suzie, Owen *Has a pet I helped him catch *Could have given me Retcon *Kisses really well 

Ianto paused, the pen hovering over the paper. _Well, I suppose he must kiss really well, mustn't he? I mentioned it several times. And I liked having sex with him. Not quite sure how that happened, but if I was in shock, like I say at the end, it's reasonable to assume I wasn't acting like myself. I can't believe I'd get involved with someone so soon after Lisa died, let alone with a man…_

_Maybe I can find out who "Jack" is by logging on to our network. It's probably still up, even though it's been a month. There are two other branches, after all. Wait! Torchwood Three is in Cardiff. Who runs that?_ Ianto searched his memory. _I know the Director before last was Alex Hopkins, and he killed himself and his entire team at the turn of the millennium. That was so spectacular people were still talking about it in 2005 when I was hired. Did they promote internally from Torchwood London or did they find someone else? Maybe from UNIT? Shit! Why can't I remember? Where's my eidetic memory now? Shit. Well, all I need to do is log on and find out. I'm sure it's at the top of the About Us page that Hartman was so intent on having on our intranet._

Ianto noticed that his glass was empty and refilled it. He got out his Torchwood-issued laptop and logged on. ACCESS DENIED – INCORRECT PASSWORD flashed across the screen. He attempted to log in as Lisa. ACCESS DENIED – USER DECEASED. He stared at the large red letters for a moment and tried his password again. ACCESS DENIED – INCORRECT PASSWORD. He tried his supervisor's username and password. ACCESS DENIED – USER DECEASED. 

_I wonder if I changed my password sometime last month? What would it have been?_ He tried something else, getting the same message. _If I were thinking of Jack instead of Lisa when I changed it, what would my password be?_ He tried a few more times, getting the same message over and over again until a new message flashed on-screen. 

ACCESS DENIED. ALL LOGIN ATTEMPTS FROM THIS IP ADDRESS WILL NO LONGER BE VALIDATED. ALL LOGIN ATTEMPTS BY THIS USER WILL NO LONGER BE VALIDATED. PLEASE CONTACT TECHNICAL SUPPORT FOR FURTHER ASSISTANCE. 

"Well, that's a bust," Ianto muttered to himself. "I think I need another drink." 

. 

. 

. 

It was over a week since Ianto woke without any memories of a month-long affair with "Jack," and he was no closer to recovering those memories or finding Jack. He had horrible nightmares of blood and fire and death, of the Tower falling to Cybermen and Daleks every night. He heard Lisa screaming and smelled the blood and metal. When he didn't wake sweating and screaming, he had a completely different reaction. 

Interspersed with the nightmares were some of the most erotic dreams he'd ever had in his life. They featured a dark-haired man with a face Ianto could never quite make out, and the most talented hands imaginable. The sex was beyond anything he could hope to experience. He must have experienced it, though, to have these dreams, they were so vivid and real. He was sure his imagination wasn't good enough to create half of the scenes that woke him in the night, hard and aching for a touch he couldn't remember, though his body knew it intimately and craved it again. 

He stopped drinking after the fourth day, deciding that maybe being sober would help his search. It hadn't. 

He monitored the internet for news of the other survivors, watching the numbers dwindling at they broke down and killed themselves or were committed to institutions, one after another. 27 had become 15 by the time he woke up in London, then 9, then 6. He knew their names, but hadn't interacted with any of them before the Battle, and felt too worn out himself by all the emotions and uncertainty of his situation to try to contact them now. 

The remaining Torchwood branches were doing a horrible cover up job, if Ianto could find things in the paper and online. But then again, they just lost nearly 800 colleagues _and_ the PR and cover up divisions at the Tower, who usually would have taken care of this kind of major event, so how a few people could cover up something so massive was beyond him. Still, even though he could find things, there was very little for him to work with, even so. Especially since he couldn't find a way to get on the Torchwood servers. It was as if he was completely locked out, no matter what he tried, and he wasn't a bad hacker. Whoever they'd put in charge of it was much better than the Tower's IT department. (He'd run circles around them once, just for the fun of it, which is how he got noticed and hired in the first place.) 

He went to the funeral Lisa's parents arranged, and cried with them, and offered them the engagement ring he'd planned to give her, but they wouldn't take it, telling him to keep his memories. They all knew they'd probably never see each other again, their grief was too raw. He attended several other funerals for people he knew. The funerals had been staggered so that all 796 Torchwood personnel who died could have a service, if their surviving families wanted, and some were still going on, even this long after the Battle, since bodies weren't always available. Apparently, the Torchwood Institute had footed the bill for all of them, as they had for the memorial stone and even for funerals for a few civilians who were in the Tower at the time of the Battle. They were filling in the crater, turning it into a park dedicated to peace. Ianto wondered what happened to the all the technology in the basement levels. Would it have been sent to Cardiff or Glasgow? 

He called his sister to make sure she knew he was alive, and was surprised to hear that he'd visited her almost daily the first two weeks he lived in Cardiff before he got a job that he'd told her he loved with a boss he respected more than anyone he'd ever met, though he hadn't given the man's name. She thought he had moved back to Cardiff and was disappointed to learn he was in London again. He shrugged, knowing she couldn't see it, and told her that he'd likely find his way back to Cardiff soon, once he'd taken care of his flat and Lisa's things. His bank account had grown rather slim, so he wasn't sure when he'd be able to afford the moving costs. She wanted him to go back to that new job and explain about the memory loss so he could have it again, and when Ianto told her he couldn't remember where he worked or who he worked for, aside from someone called "Jack," she sighed. 

"This is why I always ask you questions," she grumbled. "But I know you're not likely to change and tell me. Just come visit, then, when you get back here." 

He was just getting up to make himself a coffee when the doorbell rang. He wasn't expecting anyone. With a tired huff, he detoured to the front door to find a tall man in khakis and a light blue button-down shirt standing there with a polite but hesitant smile on his face. He had a messenger bag over his shoulder and the top few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned to reveal an undershirt. Ianto had to keep himself from staring, the man's eyes were so blue. Somehow, the ridiculous gray braces combined with the shirt made his eyes brighter than they probably should have been. 

"Ianto Jones?" the man asked. He mispronounced Ianto's name, but, then again, his American accent would probably mispronounce a lot of things, Ianto thought. 

"Yes?" 

"I have a package for you. If you could sign?" The man extended a clipboard. Ianto accepted it, but didn't find a pen. The man apologized and patted his pockets for one, but didn't seem to have one. When he reached for his bag to begin searching, Ianto held up a hand. 

"Why don't you come in while I find a pen?" he suggested. 

"I'm not really supposed to –" the man hedged. 

"Nonsense. It's just a moment, and you're letting the air conditioning out. Come in." 

"As long as you don't tell my boss," the man replied with a grin and a wink, his lips stretching to uncover perfectly straight white teeth. "She doesn't like it when I waste her time or avoid paperwork. She gets in a rather _royal_ snit." 

Ianto smiled slightly in return, his mind occupied with watching the man's sensual lips as he talked, wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He shook his head to erase the image, but the thought of the man gazing up at him with those bright eyes as he wrapped that wonderful mouth around Ianto's cock assaulted him. _Damn it! This is no time for this! I don't even remember what it was like with Jack and now I'm fantasizing about strangers? Get a hold of yourself, Jones!_ He struggled to find an appropriate response. 

"I had a boss like that once, except _he_ was the one not doing the paperwork," he commented absently. "He avoided doing any kind of work at all, as a matter of fact, if it didn't involve running around. I was constantly reminding him to sign requisition forms and the like." The man stepped into the entryway and closed the door behind him as Ianto went to get a pen. _Now where did that come from?_ Ianto wondered. _The only supervisors I've had that have even had paperwork have been women. Unless… unless I'm talking about Jack without consciously remembering it._

Ianto quickly signed his name on the appropriate line and handed both the clipboard and Biro back to the delivery man. "Might as well keep the pen," he offered. "I'm sure you lose them often enough." 

"Thanks." The man opened his bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope with the Torchwood logo emblazoned hugely across the front. The blood drained from Ianto's face. "Hey, are you ok?" the man asked, extending a hand in Ianto's direction. 

"I have to sit down," Ianto croaked, collapsing onto his couch. The man followed into the sitting room, a look of concern on his face. "I'm sorry," Ianto apologized. 

"No, no, don't worry about it. I should have said something. I've been delivering these all week. I should know by now not to spring them on people." 

"You've been doing this all week?" 

The man gave a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, special assignment from the Crown. I'm based in Cardiff, but she wanted me to personally hand these out to the other survivors and the families of the deceased." He placed the package onto the coffee table. 

"What do you do, that she would ask for you specifically?" 

"A little of this, a little of that," the man replied vaguely, shrugging. "I don't think it's anything special, but I guess she does." After an awkward pause, the man pulled out a small blank business card from his shirt pocket and scribbled something on it. "Listen, I know you're probably going through a lot right now, so if you need a shoulder to cry on or a forgiving ear…" He trailed off, extending the card. Ianto regarded him with a puzzled frown. 

"Isn't it supposed to be a sympathetic ear?" 

"I have one of those, too," the man said with a wink, already grinning again. He placed the card face down in Ianto's hand, the tips of his fingers brushing Ianto's palm. A jolt of electricity flew through Ianto and he jerked his hand back, his fingers curling around the card without conscious thought. 

"I'm not gay," Ianto blurted. 

"Neither am I," the man answered. "I don't choose to label myself. But if _that’s_ what you're looking for, I have room in my bed. You could say anything with that sexy accent and I'd be -" 

"I think you'd better go," Ianto barked, rising, his cheeks pink. _Am I just angry? Or am I embarrassed that he's coming on to me? Or is it that I'm actually considering his outrageous offer? God, these dreams of Jack have me all mixed up!_

The man nodded silently and put his bag back on, knowing that he had overstayed his welcome. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was totally out of line and disrespectful. And I'm sorry for your losses," he murmured sincerely as Ianto led him to the door. Ianto gave a curt nod in acknowledgement. The man paused as he left the flat, meeting Ianto's eyes for an intense moment. 

"Goodbye, Jones, Ianto Jones. May you find happiness." 

As he turned and walked down the hall, Ianto saw an image superimposed over him of a long coat, the coattails swishing around his ankles as he walked, making him seem heroic. _The sad, lonely hero, leaving his lover for the last time, to protect him from himself, even more than from his enemies,_ Ianto thought. 

"Wait!" Ianto called before he could stop himself. The figure paused, looked back. "How long will you be in London?" 

"You're the last person I had to visit," the man said, and Ianto thought he detected sadness in his voice. "I'm heading back to Wales now." 

"I, um, I might be moving to Cardiff," Ianto offered. 

"You have my number," the man replied, his smile and voice even sadder than before. "If you ever remember what's happened to you, call me. I'm not going anywhere." With that, he was gone, disappearing down the hall in a swirl of imaginary coattails, leaving Ianto alone, a single thought buzzing in his head. 

_How did he know I lost my memory?_

. 

. 

. 

Ianto stood by the door of his flat for five full minutes after the mysterious deliveryman left, staring down the hall the way he'd gone. He sighed and went back inside his flat, shutting the door and leaning on it, immeasurably tired all of a sudden. He felt lost, alone, weak, as if the smallest breeze would topple him to the ground. He wandered into the kitchen to put on the pot of coffee he had been going to get when the man arrived. Noticing the card in his hand, he sighed again and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans to deal with later. 

_No need to be keeping the phone numbers of random men,_ he thought. _Not when I'm still having dreams about Jack. He was cute, though. He reminded me of someone. And those eyes! I don't think I've ever seen eyes like his before. They're so blue I could drown in them. And his lips… God, I'm getting hard just thinking about it. Fuck, what would Jack think that I'm checking someone else out?_

_Not that I have anything with Jack, anymore…_ he thought dejectedly. _I fucked that up royally. No wonder he sent me back here. He probably wants nothing to do with me anymore._

_If I could just remember what he looked like!_

Coffee in hand, Ianto returned to the sitting room, figuring that looking at the packet from Torchwood would help him handle the undesired erection. Just looking at the envelope made him soft. He settled onto the couch and picked it up. 

_Seems innocuous enough_ , he mused, turning it over in his hands a few times, examining the logo. _Not that anything to do with Torchwood is either innocuous or what it seems._

He slit open the flap and pulled out a sheaf of papers, all with the distinctive Torchwood watermark, though the header was new. He scanned the cover letter and the usual empty platitudes. "Deeply regrettable incident," "unfortunate situation," and "condolences for your loss" were interspersed with "survivor benefits," "monetary compensation," and "offer of employment." He paused, the mug halfway to his lips. 

_They're offering me another job? In Cardiff? I don't believe it! Why on Earth do they think I'd ever want to work for them? They killed just about everyone I know!_

He turned to the second page, lamenting that whoever wrote the letter didn't have a better editor. Letters like this should always be on a single sheet of paper, his teachers taught him, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Glancing at the signature of the new Director of the Torchwood Institute, the man who had headed the Cardiff branch since the Millennium turned, the man Ianto couldn't put a name to for the last week, gave Ianto the shock of his life. There, in black and white, was the answer to his questions. There was the key to his memory loss and the mystery of "Jack." 

The letter was signed: _"Captain Jack Harkness”_ in the same elegant hand of the postcard in his diary. 

"Jack" was Captain Jack Harkness! 

_I've been sleeping with the Director of Torchwood! And he offered me a job, with him, in Cardiff. Oh my God! Jack is Jack! That Jack! The Jack that's known throughout the Institute as a playboy and slut. Holy shit! I hope to God we used protection!_

_Before, he wanted to get me a flat and be his lover! What the fuck does it mean? What does he want from me? Does he want a relationship, like he said before? If so, why didn't he leave me a note? Why didn't he put something personal in here? Is he afraid I'd say no?_

_Shit, I can't say no, can I? I've got to go back to him. I've got to find out what I did. I've got to see if –_

_No. Calm down. Think this through. He's a smart man. He has reasons for everything he does. Why would he leave me such an impersonal job offer letter if he wanted to be with me again? He must be trying to contain the risk I pose being out in the world. But he Retconned me! He knows I won't remember anything._

_Unless… Unless he read my diary and knows I'm sending it to myself and will have read it by now and have the potential to have my memory back._

_Why would he go to all the trouble of Retconning me and bringing me back to London if he was going to offer me a job? Is this his way of saying he wants to start over? Have a relationship that starts without the lies and betrayals? But he knows them! He knows them all. Why would he want to be with me if I did whatever I did to him? Wouldn't he resent me for doing it, even if I can't remember it? Wouldn't that poison any chance at a relationship?_

Ianto ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on it in frustration, the pain of it bringing a moment of clarity. 

_If he still loves me, and is willing to forgive me enough to offer me another job with him… I have to try. I have to give him a chance. I have to see if the spark is still there, even without my memories. If he's willing to risk it, shouldn't I be?_

_The me before Retcon wanted a second chance with him, wanted to do things differently. Maybe this is his way of offering me that option._

_Now how do I get in touch with him?_

Ianto re-read the letter, the platitudes no longer sounding fake because he knew the man who wrote the letter had feelings for him. There was no phone number or email. There was no way to contact him listed. He frowned. None of the Torchwood phone numbers or emails he knew had worked all week so he still didn't have a way to contact them. Looking through the rest of the papers, he discovered that a _very_ sizable sum had been wired into his bank account. "Compensation" for loosing Lisa (and his job and all his friends,) the letter explained, given by the Crown. 

Reading between the lines, he realized that Jack hadn't actually written the letter. It was produced by the Queen's staff, and simply signed by him. Which meant he probably had no control over what went into the envelopes. So of course Jack couldn't have left a personal note. 

_But how to find Jack? Do I have to go to Cardiff and wander around the Millennium Center until he notices me? That postcard has to be a clue. The Torchwood base has to be near there, otherwise he wouldn't have had it on him to leave me a note with._

_Without access to the Torchwood servers, I can't email him internally. Does he know I'm locked out? Probably. Hell, he probably made sure I was locked out._

He stood and went to his bedroom where he threw himself on the bed and began rereading his diary, though he'd long since memorized it. (He'd also imagined what he and Jack could have done together, and fueled by his dreams, he managed to have more than a few excellent orgasms.) _I had feelings for Jack,_ he thought. _I had very strong feelings for him, and he had them for me, too. He might still have them. He might still want a relationship with me. But what do I want? I still can't remember a bloody thing about the man!_

_I say here that meeting him is "a rare shining moment in my overly dark life." I'm very clear that I'd do things differently, that I'd let myself love him, if given the chance. Jack seems to be giving me that chance._

_But what if being with him, being near him, working for him again, what if all that breaks the Retcon and I remember everything? Will I be able to continue being with him, knowing what I did and how I hurt him?_

_It's all rather academic now. It's a story, something that happened to someone else. And since I don't know exactly what I did, I don't know how guilty I should be feeling._

_I guess I could give it a day or two, then decide then what I want to do. See if any memories surface. But it's no use waiting, really. I know what I want to do. I know what I need to do. I made up my mind long ago, even if I don't remember making the decision. I have to find Jack._

_How do I reach you, Jack? Give me a sign!_

Ianto rolled onto his back and tossed the diary to the floor. The postcard slipped out and flew under the bed. He was rolling back to his stomach with a groan to reach for it when he felt a crinkling in his pocket. He pulled out the plain white business card the deliveryman had given him with a wink and a smile. The deliveryman with the wonderful eyes and mesmerizing lips that Ianto could practically _feel_ on his cock. The deliveryman who seemed sad to say goodbye. He flattened the card and turned it over to expose the writing. Under a carefully printed phone number was a name. 

_Jack._

He had his sign. He had his answer. Now all he had to do was find the courage to pick up the phone. 


End file.
